


Dimensions

by Nihiley_Face



Series: Hiatus [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Depression, Graphic Depictions of Corpses, M/M, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Neglect, PTSD, Physical Torture, Psychological Torture, Starvation as Punishment, Suicide, This is gonna be a wild ride my dudes, Torture, i hate how the summary turned out, mentions of child abuse, the story probably isnt as shitty as the summary makes it out to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihiley_Face/pseuds/Nihiley_Face
Summary: Tom is dead.Tord broke the last three people who ever cared about him.He's alone.With Tom gone, Tord has nobody left to take the brunt of his anger. He can rule the world with an iron fist, without the burden of Tom holding him back, telling him what he can and can't do. But what's a world without the one person that you love?He grits his teeth.This time, he'll do better.[Or, Tord makes a gun that takes him to alternate dimensions, and he somehow fucks his life up even more.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle the fuck up, buttercup, it's going to be a wild fucking ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe Tom is fucking dead.

Tord sat at his desk, his hands clasped tightly in front of his hard face. 

He glared at the wall before him, his lips pushed into a deep frown, his brows tightly furrowed together. 

Those eyes haunted him.

_Empty, open eyes staring at him, yet not seeing. Visor halfway down his face, letting those open, endless voids stare into his soul like nothing else._

The guilt would kill him.

_His body, hanging there, so lifelessly, bloody hands by his sides, the crimson stains littering his clothes with those words scrawled on the wall in the same deathly colour._

He couldn't handle these thoughts. He wanted to die. 

_The rope around his neck, bruising, asphyxiating, killing. A representation of how he was metaphorically strangled, suffocated._

There was no denying that this was his fault. 

Sure, he didn't pull the trigger, but he saw all the signs and didn't bother to stop him. 

He guessed that it was his fault for doing this; He beat the poor man down, with no remorse, no rhyme or reason, just to show dominance. He wanted to be powerful, in control, he wanted the whole world, and him. It only made sense that he couldn't have both. 

The video he watched only made it worse. 

_The heavy breathing indicated how hard he was trying to stay calm; not break down. No, he couldn't do that, now._

_He grabbed the blade and pressed against his wrist, hard. It was horrifying to watch, and the pained sounds that he made while doing it only added to the effect. He was killing himself. Waking up to your lover's dead body was enough, but watching him kill himself from his own eyes? Tord wouldn't be able to sleep for a long time. Especially after he saw those eyes. Those eyes. He wouldn't sleep as long as those eyes haunted him._

_Empty, black voids of nothing. They wouldn't see anything, and looking inside them did nothing but horrify you, but they somehow knew everything. It was like those eyes knew every answer to every question ever asked. They could disprove the existence of God and you'd agree with them because those eyes were terrible. Terrible, tired eyes._

Tord could see how tired he was, now. He was so tired of living, tired of the dull ache that Tord is only now beginning to understand. Tired of the constant torture, the awful, awful thoughts constantly attacking him, and it's not like he had any defense. Rational thought had flown out the window long ago, he could no longer fight for anything. 

He didn't fight anything. Nothing at all. 

Tord did awful things, and he never fought back. Even when he was doing awful things to the only person he ever loved. 

He broke this poor creature down so harshly, so quickly, so evilly, with no remorse. 

Tom is dead, now. 

There was no lie to that. He was dead, and there was nothing that anyone could do. He wasn't coming back, and Tord knew that had been the point. To never come back. To stop existing. For all of it to end. 

It came in waves; this odd feeling of guilt, and relief, and terror, and nightmares. 

Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, they tore down Tord's world one at a time, taking turns. The nightmares would never end. Those eyes would haunt him every single day until he died. And these four horsemen would be what killed him. 

Over and over for the past week, constant attacks of guilt, depression, horror, the realization that he had done this. It never let up. Not once. 

He deserved to feel this way, he thought. It only made sense that he'd feel guilty after basically killing the man he loved. Maybe he did care, after all. Maybe he did have another chance. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He didn't have another chance after this. He had nothing, now. He built this empire for him, and it's exactly what killed him. This world meant nothing to him, now. He had nothing. He was nothing. 

He remembered fighting. 

He didn't remember how it started, or what it was even about, but it was off. Tom was off. He was more rude, more defensive; he seemed angrier than usual. Tord wanted to know what was bothering him, but he didn't answer, he only told him to fuck off. Of course. He just wanted to know what was wrong, what happened, but Tom was too off. 

They started fighting more than usual, lately, and Tord still doesn't know why. He has a feeling that it might have to do with his death, though. 

Maybe he angry at himself for something Tord blamed him for? 

Tord didn't know, he wasn't there.

He was left in the dark, but he knew, he knew that it was his fault. Who's fault could it be, other than his? It was always his fault, and he knew it. 

One minute they were close. Maybe not quite happy, but they were close and content with the moment, but the next, they were yelling. There was yelling and fighting, and maybe even a few punches to the gut, or the face. Then, it all went silent. The room was quiet, there was just nothing, all of a sudden, and it was empty. Tom walked away, to the window across from Tord. He sat on the three foot sill, the window going into the wall, rather than just sitting on it like a normal one. He sat there, knees to his chest, eyes outside, mind out of this world. Tord had no other choice but to sit at his desk and do paperwork. No doubt, he missed Tom's arms around him in that moment, but Tom was upset with him, now, and he didn't know why, so he had to go away from him. 

Tom made a few strange noises from his spot by the window, and Tord wanted to speak up, but he didn't; no matter how much it sounded like he was crying. 

Now that he thinks about it, that was probably the deciding factor. 

Tom could be alive, right now, and Tord could be helping him get better instead of his body decomposing in a cold morgue. They could've been holding each other and healing each other, but he was cold and dead, his lips bright blue, and his haunting eyes slid shut for good. There was nothing he could do anymore.  

Tears pricked his eyes as his obscure thoughts continued to run through his mind, torturing him rightfully. He felt guilty, and he should. He killed Tom and he knew it would. Maybe this was what was supposed to happen, here. Maybe this was just Tom's fate. What was that thing he used to say? Nobody gets out alive? Yeah. Tord could now see that Tom was so painfully right. Tord was human, and he would die someday, too, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, how much he wanted so badly for it to be untrue, or how badly he wanted to defy that. There was no lie in the statement that Tord was human, and that he would soon die. 

He remembered when he found his body. 

The second Pau and Patrick saw it, they quit.

Patrick looked at Tord with nothing but disgust on his face. He glared sharply at Tord, and took his gun. For a second, Tord thought Patrick would shoot him. He would not have been opposed to it. But he was shocked when the tall man took the gun in his large hands and threw it to the ground like a child throwing a fit. He shed his jacket and tossed it over to Tord, who caught it, though he was too numb to understand what was going on. Pau had realized what was happening, and he did the same. Patrick took a sharp finger and shoved it into Tord's chest. 

"I have dealt with your bullshit for a long, long time, Tord, but this is it." His voice was venom, and Tord was becoming ill from his words. "I quit this abusive, neglectful, piece-of-shit army!" He tossed his arms into the air. "I have finally hit my breaking point, and from what I've seen here, Tom has long since passed that point in his life." Pau stayed silent, and listened to him, agreeing silently because he was too in shock to actually process what happened. "I am sick of your bullshit. I am sick to death of you- you're a toxic person, Tord, and Tom is dead because you were too stubborn to change." He spat his words out like a nasty piece of food, and the last part would stick with him forever. He was a toxic person. "You're like a black hole; You suck new people into your life, and you tear them apart! People like Tom, who didn't ask to be born in a shitty world. All he wanted to do was live, and you ruined that for him." Patrick was on the verge of tears at this point. "So consider this my resignation, you commie bastard." Tord didn't like the way the old nickname rolled off of Patrick's tongue. "I. Quit." Patrick stomped out of the base, dragging Pau with him, who was wide eyed, his fists shaking at his sides. Patrick's long hair swayed by his face as he walked, clearly becoming more and more disheveled by the second. 

Tord hated himself.

He was hard-headed, stubborn, rude, crude, awful, and he had shredded the last three people to ever give a damn about him. 

He was all alone, now. 

Nobody cared.                                                                                                                                                                 

It was just like Tom said to him.

They were much, much younger, then. And even so, Tom still seemed to hold this kind of knowledge that nobody else did. This kind of cynical wisdom and truth that nobody understood, and that nobody would ever understand. 

"Well, nobody lives, and nobody cares, and everyone dies."

He could have sworn he heard Tom whisper that in his ears so quietly, like he was here. Tord jumped when he thought he heard it. "Tom?" He asked aloud, a question to which an answer would never belong. 

Tord relaxed a little bit, and sat at his desk, his hard face back on, and his fingers touching in front of his face. 

He hated this.

To break him out of his intrusive thoughts, someone opens the door, and walks in with this arrogant aura about him.

"Hello, Tord." Edd said as he walked into the room and sat down before his friend-turned-worst-enemy. Tord snaps away from this thoughts, and looks up at Edd. Tord then realizes that he is in no condition to give Edd news like these. Edd scoffed. "You look like shit." Tord averted his gaze. "Yes, I'm aware." His voice was raspy from the sobs and the drinking. He probably hasn't had a good, full glass of water for a few days, now. He realized he was thirsty. "At least I'm better off than Tom." Tord didn't look back at Edd, but he knew he was becoming concerned, trying not to show it. 

"What do you mean?" Edd took a defensive pose, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair. He also crossed his legs. Tord didn't speak up for a while. "What are you talking about, Tord?" Edd urged him, trying to get him to speak up about what happened to Tom. Edd then leaned forward, his expression very dark. "What. Did you do. To Tom." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Tord sighed. "I did awful things to him." Tord admitted. Edd glared sharply, standing up, and grabbing Tord by the front of his shirt. "What did you do to him!?" He yelled, growling. "I killed him." Edd dropped Tord back into his seat. "What?" He asked, his expression shattered. Though, he quickly gathered himself back up and grabbed Tord again. "You KILLED him!?" Edd's hands shook with anger, and he bared his teeth. "Or, rather," Tord explained calmly. "He killed himself because of the things I did to him." Tord was too empty to care what Edd did to him anymore. 

"You piece of shit." Edd spat. "I know." Tord replied. He was defeated. He was finally broken. 

They sat in silence for a long time. 

"Let me see his body." 

"Of course. Follow me." 

Tord stood and opened the door to his office, Edd in tow. They walked through the halls in awkwardly tense silence, neither of them wanting to speak to each other. Tord took note of the tightly clenched fists at Edd's sides, and knew not to mess with him. In turn, Edd seemed to take note of Tord's empty, tired expression. He looked just like Tom, now. Just so, so tired. 

Tord typed a code into the keypad by the morgue, and the door slid upwards and opened. Tord stepped inside, and Edd followed him. Tord walked to a tall row of similar-looking boxes. Tord opened one and slid a body out. It was Tom's. 

His body was pale; blue lips, and fingers. His eyes were closed, now, so they couldn't see into Tord's soul anymore. His hands lay at his sides, a cloth covering his cold flesh. Edd shuddered when he saw them. 

The gashes in his arms. 

They went vertically, down under his forearms, starting on the bottoms of his palms, going up to nearly his elbows. The gashes were this ugly shade of pink, now, and it looked wrong to see such wounds on somebody. Especially since they weren't bleeding. 

You could see the scars on his eyes, and his shoulders. From the abuse. Tord subconsciously rubbed them, and sighed sadly. "Did you do that?" Edd asked. Tord nodded. "I'm ashamed to say so." Edd took a shaky breath. "You're a horrible person." Edd said. Tord didn't look at him, but stopped rubbing the scars. "I know, Edd." He said, his face twitching. "No, I mean it." Edd went on. "I hate you." Tord gripped Tom's pale shoulder, and grit his teeth. He didn't reply. "You killed my best friend. You hurt him so badly that he-" Edd's voice began to shake. "That he wanted to end his own life, and I hate you." At this point, Edd had began to cry. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" He yelled. "I wish- I wish I never met you." His voice quieted down. 

Ouch. 

That last one stung quite a bit, but Tord knew he deserved it. 

"I wanted to badly for Tom to give you a chance, and when he did, he ended up like this: Hating himself more than he has ever before, and now he's dead." Edd wiped his face. "I fucking hate you." Tord didn't reply, and Edd kept on his side of Tom's body, quaking in his loss. "I know. And you have every right to." Edd added, "But?" "There is no but, Edd. You have every right to hate me. I did something horrible, something completely unforgivable. Not even I could ever forgive myself for this." He gently stroked Tom's cheek with his flesh hand. "You're damn right." Edd said. "I hope you die in a fire, suffering just as much as Tom was, you commie fuck." Edd spat out. Tord smiled this bitter smile, because he loved that nickname, but hated the way it came off of Edd's tongue.  

It was silent again, until Edd whacked Tord's hand away from Tom's body. "You don't even deserve to touch him." Was his reasoning. Tord replied, "That is fair." He only stared at Tom's body with this melancholy look. "I hate you." Edd said again. "I really, really fucking hate you, Tord." He kept going on about how he hated Tord so much, and Tord didn't say a word. He deserved this. They both needed to hear and say these things. 

When Edd was finished, it was silent again. Just a long, tense silence between the two of them. 

Tord spoke up. "Can I ask you a question?" He asked. Edd glared at him, and his voice was dripping with malice. "You just did." He shot back. Tord didn't speak up again.

"Do you know anything that Tom went through?" Edd asked him, his voice shaking. "No, I don't." Tord said. "Would you tell me?" Edd looked at him for a long time, and sighed. "I will tell you. No point in worrying, Tom is dead, now." He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and he leaned back against the cabinet of dead bodies. "Mind you," Edd warned. "I don't know everything. But I do know that Tom went through some awful things." "Okay."

"The first time I met Tom was when he saved me from these asshats who jumped me." He admitted. "We were, what, twelve? Thirteen? And this scrawny, angry kid with weird hair and black eyes scares these bigger, older kids off somehow." He sighed nostalgically, pulling the memories back. "I don't know how he did it, or where he learned to fight, but it was kind of... Cool, I guess.

"He said he did it to show everyone who was in charge around there, and if they didn't listen to him, he would have to punish them. He was honestly powerful. Like a one man gang, he ran the city, protecting citizens from the street rats, and soon, he acquired the name, 'King Rat'." Edd chuckled. "He was king of the street rats, you know?" He gave this weird smile, and cast a glance over to Tord. "He was homeless, then. I don't know why, he never told me. He lived on the streets for a long time, though, I could tell. The way he spoke with this gross cockney accent, and his vulgar language. If he wasn't homeless, at the very least, he was living in a pretty shitty neighbourhood." Edd pulled his lips into a frown.

"Then child protective services found him, and took him away from me." His brows furrowed. "I think it was my parents who called them. But I don't know. And he was taken from the streets, and given a social worker, who tried to find him a home, but failed. The people she gave him to were awful. They beat him, and they didn't care. The first time you met Tom was the last home he ever went to. He was around fifteen, or sixteen, I can't remember. The lady he was with was awful. She was vulgar, and rude, but she was never home. She didn't beat him, but she belittled him, and put herself first. He tried to stay away from her by staying outside all the time, or at my house, when he could. It was the only home he had, since my parents refused to take him in.

"When you met him, he was, well." Edd had a hard time putting his words together. "He was being abused, but since he'd gone through so much more, he thought she might have actually cared. Maybe she did, I'll never know. She died in a car accident a couple of years later, and that was the end of it. By the time she died, he was grown, so he didn't need her anymore. And by then, he'd figured that she didn't care, and barely showed up to her funeral. He only showed because nobody else would." Edd sighed. "I didn't like her." He looked to Tord. "You remind me of her." He looked like he pitied Tord for a split second. 

"Tom barely got a proper education, and had been thrown into school quicker than he could comprehend." He looked back ahead of him, expression blank. "But he managed to fake it long enough to graduate, which was good, I guess. He went to uni, graduated, but became an alcoholic in the process. Nearly dropped out a couple of times due to his depression. He wasn't stable enough for it." He looked at the ground. "He couldn't get a job because he wasn't emotionally stable enough. Almost killed himself quite a few times." He looked at Tom's body. 

"For his sake, I'm glad that he's dead." 

"I can see why you think that way." Tord spoke up for once.

"Who wouldn't? He was a shitty guy with a shitty life, and he hated everything. He was always alone because he never trusted anyone, he was too vulgar, too mean, and his sense of humor was far too dark for most people's tastes. He was weird. He has a whole new kind of daddy issues, and his life was just generally shit." Edd was blunt in his description, and Tord wouldn't disagree. "He just wanted it to end." Edd stroked the side of Tom's face. "He was tired, so tired of the cycle of shit that went through and through. He was so tired of suffering, no matter how hard he tried, so for his sake, I'm glad. I am so glad that my friend is dead, because that means it's over for him." Edd teared up again. "He didn't get out alive, and you know what? That's fine. Nobody gets out alive in the end. Everybody dies, and that's it. I'm happy he got out, happy it's over for him." Edd clenched his fist by Tom's face as he quietly sobbed next to Tord. 

"You know what? Me too." Tord said. "It just means that he doesn't have to hurt anymore." Edd looked at him and smiled a little. "Yeah, right? He's okay, now. It's over. No more pain, or suffering, or anything. He's okay, now." Edd just kept repeating that phrase over and over again, tears falling onto Tom's cheeks as he cried. 

After a few minutes, Edd wiped his face, and stood up straighter. "I hate you, Tord." He said, his expression strange and unfamiliar to Tord. "I hate you too, Edd." Tord didn't really know what to say, but saying that sounded right. Tord closed the cabinet with Tom's body in it, and together, they silently walked out of the morgue. Tord lead Edd to the entrance of the building, where he could leave. 

The silence was less tense, now, less awkward. Instead, it seemed calmer. It was just calm between two enemies. Tord opened the door for Edd, and Edd smiled at him. "Thank you," Edd said. Tord nodded to him in response. "Goodbye, asshole." Edd said. He wasn't smiling, but Tord felt some sort of good nature behind it. He didn't really know, though. "Goodbye, Edd." He replied, waving a little. 

At that, Edd was gone with a sharp turn. He didn't look back, lest Tord see his face. He was smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord spirals and gets a dream.

Tord was sitting at his desk. 

In his flesh hand, there was a flask. It used to belong to Tom. 

He laughed bitterly to his drunken self. "Ah," He said with this sort of false cheer in his tone. "What a piece of shit am I, aye?" He looked over to the posters on his right, portraying Tom, Pau, Patrick and some recently assassinated leaders with red exes on their faces. He laughed some more when he looked at Tom's wanted poster. 

The poster was a picture of Tom without his visor, so it was clear he was blind, (as shown by his whited-out eyes), but that didn't stop him from looking at the camera and making a rebellious expression; his brows were knitted together in a sort of angry-looking glare, with his mouth opened in a nasty smile, putting on display his lolled out tongue and surprisingly sharp teeth. Actually, it wasn't so surprising that his teeth were so sharp, once Tord thought about it. He wasn't human, after all. Edd mentioned that once this happened to Tom, he had acted even more animalistic than usual. Not that he wasn't animalistic before, he might as well have been born a damn dog. 

He nested in his bed, sometimes, and preferred to stay in warm environments. Cold had suddenly become torture to him. That wasn't shocking, he was a reptile, now. He ate more meat; burgers, steaks, anything he could find or afford. When asked about his increased appetite for meat, he said, "I am a beast! I can't be seen eating rabbit food!" He wasn't wrong, really. What's even worse, is that his alcohol tolerance seemed to skyrocket. He could drink more than ever and be completely fine. It took far more than he could afford to get him drunk. It was both a blessing and a curse, really. 

Edd told a story about one time, Tom drank an entire liquor store. 

"One night," He'd said. "Tom had a rough day at work, and he came home drunk. I didn't even know this could happen anymore, so I asked him about it. All he said was this: 'I saw a liquor store, and I drank it.'" Tord had laughed, thinking it impossible, but the next day, the news reported an entire liquor store had been robbed clean, with no trace that alcohol had ever been there. Tord had began taking notes of Tom's behaviours that day. 

His sexual appetite had also turned really strange. It almost seemed scheduled, really. Once or twice a month, he'd get really horny, then be pretty fine for the rest of the remaining weeks. Almost like a weird period, or a cat's heat. Edd and Matt usually left him alone to jack off for several hours a day when this happened, and it just didn't stop. Even when he had sex, it just kept on going for about a week or so. 

Tord suddenly felt even more guilty. 

Tom had even gotten aroused to the point that it hurt him if he didn't have an orgasm. Tord had more often than not used that against him, more than once, too.

He took another drink from his- Tom's flask. 

It was six months after Tom's funeral, and Tord sat at his desk, drinking himself into oblivion because it was what Tom used to do. He guessed he understood, now. Everything that Tom used to feel and think, it all kind of made sense, now. It was kind of like seeing your friend high off their balls and laughing at them, then finally hitting the blunt with them, and you understand everything completely.

He was drunk. 

"I killed the only man to ever love me." Tord grinned and leaned back in his chair, drooling a bit. "What a guy am I? Boyfriend of the year." He laughed a little, then cried a little, and then did a lot of both. 

For about four months, Tord truly thought Tom was alive, and did everything he could to track down everything even remotely Tom-related. 

Denial. 

He refused to accept that Tom was dead, refused to listen to his new second-in-command, Samuel, and even punched him in the face. Ever devoted, however, Samuel gave up on trying to convince his boss that Tom was dead, and decided to help him. He probably pitied him. Not that his soldiers and other people didn't, his significant other killed himself. If only they knew the truth as to why. 

Now that he thinks about it, he did beat Tom in front of his soldiers. 

Did he ever really show Tom any affection?

He remembers cleaning him up after sex, aftercare. Taking care of his wounds, wrapping him in warmth, kissing him gently and giving him lots of compliments because he knew Tom's sub-drop could get really bad, sometimes. He cuddled Tom until Tom couldn't breathe and was whining for him to stop, but of course, Tord knew that when Tom was receiving affection and told them to stop, that didn't really mean stop. It just meant that he didn't know how to handle affection, but wanted them to continue giving it. Maybe in smaller doses, but still. 

Even if Tord took care of him after, that didn't stop Tom from getting hurt. 

Tord didn't allow Tom to put makeup on hickies or 'love-bites', or any of the marks that Tord gave him the night before. Maybe it was a way of showing dominance, or showing people that Tom belonged to someone. That wasn't even a relationship, anymore. It was like Tord owned Tom, and that was wrong on so many different levels.

Tom used to be very strict about respect in a relationship; both partners were equals, no matter their job, nationality, race, gender, background, et-cetera. Unless, of course one of the partners were to be a bad person, (say, an abuser or gaslighter), in which the victim of the relationship is better than them. 

Tom was so much better than Tord. 

How did he end up like this?

Tord started to blame God. Claimed it was His fault that Tom was hurting. After what he heard from Edd about the past Tom never told him, Tord blamed God. What kind of 'gracious and merciful' creator would let this happen to His so-called 'children'? If He cared so much, why were people on the streets, starving of disease, or children watching their parents die, and then get abused for things that weren't their fault! It was wrong. If Tord were God, with this newfound knowledge, he would be a much better one. He'd look after his creation and make sure everyone was okay. It would be Paradise. Peaceful. 

Tord was furious with God.  

Anger. 

However, when Tord got too deep in his cups, his perspective would change. 

He'd sit on his knees, praying at his bedside, begging God to bring Tom back. 

He swore he'd change, be a better person for Tom; treat him like a king, nay, a God, and give him everything he deserves. He'd be somebody that Tom could talk to if he was upset, and be everything he needs. He'd do so much better if only he'd gotten a second chance. 

He's been stuck between anger and bargaining for months. Sometimes it morphed and evolved into depression, but it never quite finished the cycle and went to acceptance. He refused to accept it. 

Death didn't always have to be goodbye, right?

So Tord had begun. 

Every day since around last week, Tord's been having a nice, French red wine with his breakfast. Since his army was falling apart and losing money, it had to be cheap, with some cheap-ass eggs cooked into an omelette. He ate leftovers more often than not, and was being forced into giving his soldiers nothing but the bare minimum; rice, red beans and whatever cheap, disease-ridden meat he can find. Sometimes he managed to get some potatoes or onions, but could barely afford those things. Maybe carrots or corn, too. 

They had to start rationing food, and the nations Tord had conquered were forced to give their donations for food and weapons.

So much for communism. 

Oh, God, Tord missed Tom a whole awful lot. 

Since his army had begun to fall apart, he'd began to lose soldiers, too. 

Not just Pau and Patrick, but they'd leave, dozens at a time every couple of months. Base after base was being abandoned. 

Sooner or later, Tord would be left with nothing, and become a wanted criminal. He probably deserved life in prison, though. But if he did get captured and thrown in purgatory, he wouldn't be cruel to people. He'd share his food, tell jokes and funny army anecdotes. He'd try his best to not come off as the horrible person that he used to be. He would have changed for the better. 

If only he'd had a second chance, he'd do so much better. 

He recalls a night, a day or two after Tom died, where he had this really strange dream. It was horrifying at the start, then somewhat sad and sweet towards the end, and when it ended, it was so abrupt, he didn't know what to do. He'd stayed in bed all day that day, thinking about that dream. 

It started with a horrible episode of sleep paralysis. 

He was sort of awake, but he couldn't move, or speak, or anything. He could barely breathe. Naturally, this drove him to panic. He tried so hard to move, but no matter how strong he was, he just couldn't move to save his life. Then, it happened. Tom was suddenly within Tord's line of sight, flopping onto his body and pinning him down, as if he wasn't already immobile. 

Tom's eyes were cold and dead and held no emotion, yet he smiled. But this smile was horrifying. It was like the smile of a serial killer, a psycho. Tord tried to move out of his grasp, but it was no use. He was a victim of this sleep paralysis.  Tom moved his body against Tord's, like they were about to fuck, but it was all wrong. The sensations felt dead, like a machine. There was no energy, no spark, nothing. Just empty movements. Tord tried to push him off, but he was still unable to move. He was starting to get even more scared by this. He began to panic a little, his heart racing and his mouth going dry. 

When Tom noticed this, he leaned down, still drunkenly grinning, and he whispered into Tord's ear. 

"I win." 

Tord had no idea what that meant. He tried to ask, but he couldn't speak. Tom stayed like this, his body cold and unmoving on top of Tord, his face in Tord's neck. Tord was afraid that Tom might bite his neck and kill him. Not that he didn't deserve it, but it was still a terrifying thought. 

Suddenly, Tord was able to blink. And when he did, Tom was gone. He was able to breathe and move again, normally.

The second he could move, he shot up out of bed and ran in his nightclothes to the morgue. He needed to see Tom. He didn't know why, but he just did. He couldn't remember what colour the walls were, or what time or day it was, and he didn't stop to check if his flesh hand was still solid, but he ran as fast as he could. Which, apparently, was pretty fast considering he was at the morgue in a matter of seconds, rather than a few minutes like it usually would have taken.

However, as he approached the morgue, he heard an oddly sweet sound coming from it. It sounded like singing. From the sound of it, it could have been a young girl.

He carefully made his way to the doorway of the morgue, which, for some odd reason, didn't have a door in this dream. He cautiously turned his head into the room to see an odd sight.

A little girl, no more than eleven years old was sitting on a metal stool, cupping and stroking Tom's face while she sang, as if he were merely asleep instead of dead. Upon closer inspection, this girl looked a lot like Wednesday Addams, with her old-fashioned dress, and her dark hair, parted down the middle and tied into long braids, cascading down the fronts of her shoulders. She sang a familiar tune, but he couldn't place the name of the song, or where he's heard it before. She stared at Tom's dead face sweetly, a tiny, knowing smile on her face with her lips parted and her eyes partially lidded.

"Carry on, my wayward son," She sang sweetly. Her tone was so calm and kind that Tord was almost drawn to her, like he wanted to be near her and hear her sing. "There'll be peace when you are done," At this point, Tord was unsure as to why, but he began to cry. It was like his heart was swelling with all these feelings he didn't know how to control, and all of a sudden, he cared about all sorts of things that he didn't even know he didn't care about before. "Lay your weary head to rest," She closed her eyes and gave Tom's forehead a feather-light kiss. "Don't you cry no more." She said as he lifted her face from his. She looked at Tord, the same soft expression on her face.

Tord didn't know what to do with these feelings, they all hurt so damn badly, he didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He fell to his knees and screamed, grabbing his head and sobbing intensely. The little girl approached Tord and knelt down in front of him. Tord looked up at her through tear-blurred vision and he asked her, "Are you God? Is this my punishment?" Her expression changed a little, but it was still soft. He couldn't place what it had changed to, however, but it was a little harder. "You are not being punished," She said, her soft voice ringing in his head. "I am simply giving you everything he felt." The girl gestured to Tom's body. "Everything you are feeling now is what he felt every day. It weighed him down, but he made it so far. His life was a war, but do not think that he's lost just yet." Tord was confused and in psychological pain, he didn't know what any of that meant. "Believe it or not, he's actually winning this way." Tord felt this weird pang in his chest, and he sobbed more. "Will he come back?" He asked, grabbing his chest. "Can I have a second chance with him?" His emotions felt so strangely intense. "I am not at liberty to give you that information." "What the fu- fuck is that supposed to mean?" He stumbled over his words as he brokenly sobbed. "Exactly what it sounds like," She said. "I'm not at liberty to provide you the answer to that question." 

The girl looked at him very seriously. "You need to be careful, Tord." She said, her expression now harder. "If you hurt Tom, you get no more chances. He'll be gone forever." Tord nodded, crying and laughing, suddenly filled with this sort of weird hope.

He woke up in his bed and cried for hours. He stayed in bed all day that day, ignoring his need to eat, and his soldiers when they paged him and asked for help. He didn't want to think about those problems right now, they needed to leave. Tord pondered on this dream he had, and that lead him to searching and searching for four months, for anything even remotely related to Tom. It nearly drove him into madness.

Maybe he'd finally accepted that Tom wasn't out there, and the dream he'd had was just that; a dream. He doesn't know, but he did give up on searching, and he hated it. He just wanted to believe in something, now. There isn't a whole lot to believe in anymore, but if he could help it, he'd like to believe that Tom is alive. But maybe he just wasn't. Maybe there was no second chance, and this was it. Who knows?

Certainly not Tord.

Tord drinks from Tom's flask and recalls what the little girl said to him. "If you hurt Tom," 

He scoffed. 

"I already broke him," He laughed bitterly. "He's already gone forever, it's not like I can just-"

Tord put down his flask, and thus was born an unholy idea.

He grabbed papers for blueprints. He began to write down horrible plans and theories. He only remembers having one thought on repeat in his mind the entire time: "For Tom." He said it over and over, writing and writing.

For Tom.


	3. Chapter 3

Tord wakes up at his desk, early in the morning, his head pounding, and his mouth dry. His nose was stuffy, and his eyes itched. He'd probably been crying again. He sighs, squinting at the little clock on his desk. His alarm was just about to go off. But his alarm was by his bed. Wait, he remembers that he'd turned it off a while back, when he'd gotten too tired of that awful sound when he woke up in the morning with a hangover, like he did now. He shouldn't have anything to worry about. 

Tord wipes his mouth of drool and he looks down at the blueprints he'd fallen asleep on the previous night. The writing on it was partially in Norwegian, partially in English, and no matter how many times he looked at it, he was barely able to decipher half of it. The handwriting he had when he was drunk was absolute fucking chicken scratch. He could barely read it. Still, though, he could make out just enough of it to figure out what he'd wanted to do. 

Drunk Tord had the idea to make a gun that would take him to an alternate dimension to find another version of Tom just like his, so that he could start anew with his deceased second in command. He'd had the idea to go back in time, but he figured that would screw up his timeline, like it always does in the movies. Besides, the Tom of his timeline was a tortured soul, one who would be unable to survive here. He was doomed to perish by his own hands. 

Or, at least, that's what Tord had come to believe. 

There were many flaws in his hardly scribbled writing, (of course, he was drunk when he wrote it), but if the Many Worlds Theory proved true, it could actually work. If he could find his love again, then he could rule the world with his iron fist once more, soulmate by his side. He'd treat him like a God; the physical return of Jesus Christ. He'd worship him. 

As it should have been from the start. 

Tord liked this idea. 

He began to edit the blueprints into something more legible and realistic for Bones to build later. While he was editing his math, Yuu buzzed him on the intercom. Without looking up, Tord said, "What is it, Yuu?" His voice was raspy from lack of use, (other than yelling), and the burn of whiskey in his throat. Yuu's voice came from the speaker of his intercom, anxious and worried. "There's someone here!" He said. "Tell them to go away," Tord said, his tone snappy and bitter. "I'm a very busy man, I have no time for people without appointments." Yuu replied, "He says it's very important that you see him immediately!" 

Tord scowled. "Is that so?" Tord rubbed his temples, having forgotten to take his aspirin for his hangover this morning. A bunch of garbled sounds come from the other side of the intercom. Tord knitted his brows together, confused. "The hell?" He asked himself. "What, is this damn thing broken again? I just got it fixed, for fucks sake!" 

"That's him!" Yuu runs away from the speaker, and isn't heard again. Tord frowned. "God fucking dammit," He cursed to himself. God fucking dammit indeed, now he had to deal with some jackass. Oh, how he hated people. They're nothing more than the dirt it takes to bury them, himself included. How he hated their narcissistic thoughts of entitlement. 

A voice comes into the intercom, deep and distorted. It put Tord on edge. "You need to stop." It said. Tord growled at the intercom. "Who are you? Stop what?" The voice replied, "I'm the person who's going to stop you from pulling a stupid stunt. End this." Tord was up to about here with the bullshit coming to his door today. "What stupid stunt am I about to pull, exactly?" He spat. "Stop building that gun." Was the only reply. Tord was quiet for a few seconds. "Who are you?" He asked again, this time, more quietly. His heart leapt into his throat, just hoping to God it might have been Tom. "I'm someone who knows you better than yourself. Now end this dark endeavor, immediately! Tom is dead, accept that fact!" The voice cut off before it could finish the sentence properly, and Tord didn't have time to reply. 

Tord immediately checks the security cameras by where Yuu is stationed. There was nothing there, sans Yuu, who was looking nervous. He attempts to go back through the security recordings during the time the person was on his intercom, but the cameras all go static. Tord frowned. He swore to God, it was Tom. It had to be. He's seen movies, this is foreshadowing, right? Those movies were never too good, though, so what was this?

Or was he just convincing himself that Tom was still alive? He'd done that before, and it fucked him up.

"Tom is dead." He told himself. "He's dead. He's not 'out there', he's gone." What he failed to screw into his brain was that Tom was dead because of him. He refused to tell himself that, now. It would only fuck him up even worse. And he didn't need that right now. What he needed was to focus.

But he just couldn't find it in himself to stay alert. He found himself just sitting in his chair, this very comfortable, plush chair he remembers Tom loved so much. He sat in that comfortable chair and just waiting. For what? He was unsure. He's been messed with, now. He supposed half of him hoped that, at some point, Tom would just pop out of nowhere and appear again, like normal. But the other half knew that wouldn't happen. That's just how death works.

Tord remembers that Tom had a hard time comprehending death, when he was alive. For him to just... Die, it was so strange. Death was something always so confusing to Tom, and he didn't understand it. He knew how it worked, he knew that everyone died, and that he, too, would eventually die, but it was so painful for him. He never quite got it, and it kept him up at night. Tord had to bring him down from those ledges.

Tord remembers when Matt first died.

Tom was pretty messed up about it. He'd gotten dreams about Matt, and thought Matt was alive when he woke up from them, but then came the hard truth that he was no longer there, and Tom would break down. Tom just couldn't understand it. He didn't know what death was, and it hurt him, badly. Especially since he thought Matt's death was his fault.

It wasn't.

Tord needed a drink.

He stood up from his comfortable seat and began to walk towards his door. He only looked back at the monitors once.

He headed down to the cellar in the basement that held various alcohols and wines. Tord wasn't exactly partial to one, as long as it got him drunk, but he preferred a sweet red when he could get himself one. He walked down the cement steps into the lukewarm room and sighed, looking at all the alcohol. He put his hands in his pockets and gave himself a minute to walk around the cellar and clear his head a bit. He remembered how much Tom hated wine. He never liked it. White, red, didn't matter. He just hated the flavour so much. He felt like making it sweeter only made it worse. Tord never understood why Tom didn't like wine, Tord loved it. He sighed and tried not to think about it, even if it kept sneaking into his mind whenever.

He found a few bottles of a cheap red he knew tasted decent and grabbed one, swinging his arm by his side. He looked down for a moment, as if looking at Tom, and he spotted something on the floor.

It looked like the shelf had been scooted over in some way, judging by the marks on the floor. Tord wondered what might have been behind it. He decided to take a peek.

He carefully shifted the shelf holding the delicate wine bottles and peered behind it. It was a difficult and delicate task, which were all tasks that Tord was never good at, but he managed. He finally scooted the shelf away from the wall, and was horrified at what lay behind it.

The wall was covered in blood.

Not only that, but it spelled out a word.

**THE WRITING ON THE WALL:**

**MONSTER**

Tord's face contorted into one of horror and shock as he looked at the horrible sight. He didn't know what to do right now. Did Tom do this? The blood looked old, and it seemed like it was flicking and peeling off of the wall like a sort of cursed paint. Tears brimmed Tord's eyes. He just knew that Tom did this. He knew that Tom cut his arms and wrote this word on the wall.

If only he knew why.

Whatever the reason, it was probably Tord's fault.

Tord immediately called Bones down to the cellar to check out the blood. He knew it was Tom's, but he wanted to make sure with a test. He watched as Bones carefully took samples of the blood, his face concentrated and serious. Tord's expression was despondent as he observed his friend.

"I should have the results back in a few hours." Bones told him, and Tord could see the wrinkles in his face. Tord felt bad for him, he was probably overworking Bones. That was kind of selfish, wasn't it? Tord sighed. "I know it's probably Tom's," Tord said. "So you don't have to check it, it's fine." Tord grabbed his bottle of wine and began to walk away. Bones stopped him. "Shut the fuck up, Tord," Bones snapped at him. Ah, ever so eloquent, that Bones. "You don't need to treat yourself like this." He said, stepping in front of Tord. Tord only rolled his remaining eye, and Bones grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Stop. You're only going to hurt yourself more." Tord nodded. "Yeah, I know." Bones looked shocked. Bones was a man of self preservation, so he could barely comprehend someone wanting to die or kill themselves, or not care about their own death like Tord.

"Tord, I'm serious." "So am I." Bones rolled his eyes and merely slapped Tord in the face.

"You need to talk about this, Tord." Bones said. Tord ignored him and tried to walk past him. "No, I don't. I'm fine." Bones glared. "The love of your life killed himself, and now, there's a disturbing message on the wall, likely written in HIS blood, and you have the audacity to say you're okay?" Tord paused in his steps, and Bones knew he was getting to him. "I'm fine." Tord said again, getting annoyed instead of wanting to talk about it.

"I know from personal experience that not talking about it leads to bad things." Tord turned around. "And what are those bad things, exactly, Bones?" Tord asked, not expecting the answer he got. In a calm, quiet voice, he said, "Take a good, long look at the message on the wall." He looked at Tord nonchalantly. "Do you think that's a message from someone who talked about it?" He asked. "Do you want to end up like Tom?" Bones started to raise his voice. "At this point, I don't even care!" Tord yelled back at him, the sharp bark of his voice causing Bones to flinch, but barely. "How could you do this to yourself!?" Bones shouted. His voice was shrill and loud, and it hurt Tord's ears. "How could you just completely invalidate all the hard work you've done, everything good you've created, just for one person!?" Tord shrugged angrily. "I don't know, probably because I'm grieving!" He shrieked back. Tord was getting antsy.

All this fighting reminded him of Tom.

"Do you think Tom would have wanted you to end up like this!?" Bones raised his shoulders and hackles, and he looked as angry as Patrick did when he left the army. "Do you think Tom or Matt would have wanted this for you? Your two most trusted men, and they cared for you more than anything, as their friend, their leader, and even Tom's lover. But you don't even care about yourself." Bones' voice lowered as he got to the end. "What they would think of you if they saw you like this, now?" He asked. It was clear Bones was worried for his friend, which was unusual. Bones was about as full of emotion as a rock was full of life. To see him reacting like this to Tord about his self-care methods was strange.

Tord frowned. It was awkwardly silent for a long time between the two of them. They just stood there, a bottle of wine in Tord's hand as he sat, feet planted firmly into the ground.

"You're right," Tord said. Bones looked up at him, and hadn't realized that he had looked down. "You're right about everything. My behaviour is a stain on their memory." Bones shook his head. "No, I'm not saying that-" "Shut up, Bones. I know what you meant, but I got what I got from this speech of yours, and I realize that this just isn't right." Tord sighed and handed the bottle of wine to Bones. He frowned.

"I'm going back to my office. Let me know if the blood is Tom's or not." Were his last words before he left, leaving Bones in the dust again.

Tord walked back to his office, feeling emptier than his hands. He felt like he should have gotten that bottle of wine, because now there was nothing left to fill him up. Not that alcohol did a good job of that. It probably just made it worse; it made him addicted. It made him like Tom, and Tord wasn't like Tom. Tord was better than that. Tord had a reason to live, and that reason was Tom. Tom needed Tord right now, he needed Tord to come and find him and whisk him away from whatever universe he was hiding in, and he needed that now. Tord couldn't do that when he was drunk, depressed and not motivated.

When Tord got back to his office, he grabbed the picture of Tom and he from his frame on his desk and pinned it to the wall above his bed, so he could see it even more often, and never forget. Never forget his task. He smiled, proud of himself. He was ready to start editing those blueprints, now.

Tord continued to edit his sloppy, drunken work on the blueprint's drafts, and felt happy with himself for the first time in months. Even if he was craving alcohol, and some sort of sweet drink. He was okay, he could do this. Tom needed him right now. Tom needed him to come and find him. Tom needed him.

From then, he only partially pondered whether the person that called him or not was Tom. He thought about it, but when he realized that it was distracting him, he'd decided to let it go for the moment, and he just decided he needed to work on his blueprints.

Tord sat in the office all day, hunching over the blueprints, his body getting achy from never moving, but he didn't care. His knees and elbows began to hurt, and his back got sore, and he got a headache, but all he did to fix it was get up from his chair and go to the medicine cabinet to grab an NSAID to fix his pain problems. He needed to help Tom right now, not himself. 

It's late at night when Tord decides he's finished the blueprints. He thinks that they're done, but he's not sure, he was very tired at the time. He decided to head to bed then, after all, it was two in the morning, he needed some rest, and he'd get done with his work tomorrow. Then, he'd let bones know that he needed to build this so he could test it out. Tord was getting giddy, but he couldn't do that, now. He needed some rest. He needed to take care of himself. To take care of himself better than Tom did, so he doesn't end up writing messages on the walls in blood. So he didn't end up killing himself out of grief.

He needed to stay motivated.

The next day, Tord woke up to his phone ringing.

He tossed and turned in his bed, sighing and hoping that the shrill shriek of his phone would go away, but much to his dismay, it did not. He had no choice but to get up and answer it, now. He was irritated at that.

"Hello?" He asked, his voice raspy and deep from sleeping.

"Did you know that Tom was anemic?" Bones' voice rang like screeching nails on chalkboard to Tord's tired ears from the other line. "What?" He asked, confused. "Did you know Tom was anemic?" Bones asked again. "What does this have to do with anything?" Tord asked, growing irritated. "Oh, right," Bones paused. "The results of the blood test are in." Tord already knew the answer. "It's Tom's blood." Tord sighed in defeat. "And what does the fact that he's anemic have to do with anything?" Tord asked. "Oh, nothing," Bones said. "Just the blood was Tom's and he was slightly anemic." Tord furrowed his brows together in annoyance. "Alright, thank you, Bones." Tord said through clenched teeth. Bones seemed to feel the tension coming from the other line and decided to hang up, then.

"Well, don't do anything stupid-" Bones said. "I'm already doing something stupid." Tord said under his breath. "What was that?" Bones asked. "Nothing, Bones, whatever." Tord brushed him off, wanting to get to his work, now. "Alright, sunshine," Tord cringed at the nickname, and Bones hung up. Tord sighed, putting his phone down.

He rubbed his eyes, hoping the sting of sleep would soon leave him. He decided he needed a good cup of coffee for once, rather than just drinking again. He got up out of bed and put on some pants and a button-up shirt. It would be strange for his soldiers to see him in such casual clothing, but at this point in time, he just didn't care. Tord walked out of his room, barefoot and stumbling out of sheer exhaustion. He'd been working so hard and drinking so much in the past few days that he just couldn't seem to walk right anymore. The toll it was taking on his body had probably been phenomenal. It was a miracle that he was even alive, considering he had the hardest working liver in the galaxy, second to only Tom. He sighed and made his way to the mess hall, where he could get himself a nice, hot cup of Joe.

Tord got plenty of strange looks on his way to the cafeteria. He'd expected that. He also didn't care. His soldiers whispered behind their hands whilst looking at him. He couldn't quite catch onto what they'd been saying, but he mildly feared that more of his army would leave him. He was so tired, now. He just wanted to curl up on the floor and sleep forever.

He figured out pretty quickly that the only reason he had as many soldiers and bases left standing was because some believed that was working on something amazing. Some sort of wonderful weapon, something that would bring them more glory than ever before. As if taking over nearly the whole world wasn't enough for them, their greed was still strong. Communism, huh? Tord sighed.

He made it to the area that would bring him what he needed; coffee and food. He made his way over to one of the coffee machines. He remembered that in the mornings, he'd catch Tom here, with Paul, tired and talking about some weird piece of bullshit or another. Before that, he'd often be caught here with Matt, too. Tord stared longingly at the coffee machine for a while, catching the gazes of more of his soldiers, who, again, looked at him strangely.

"You alright, sir?" Yuu asked him. Tord shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine, Yuu." He said. Yuu gave him a look, but didn't ask anything. He walked away with his food. Tord trudged over to the coffee machine, looking forlorn and lost. He sighed as he grabbed a cup, (it used to belong to Tom), and began to make himself something to bring him up a little. This would help him focus and it could get him on the right track for finishing those blueprints. He gave a small smile of determination at that, happy that he could think of a brighter side to all this tragedy.

Tord took the cup of coffee with him back to his quarters to work on the blueprints some more. He didn't know if they were quite finished, yet, they probably still needed some editing, considering what time it was when he went to bed last night and how tired he must have been. Tord sipped from his coffee as he worked, growing less and less tired the more he continued to move. He's forgotten how well exercise in the morning could really improve your mood and wake you up. He smiled to himself, feeling good for once.

When he got back to his depressing quarters, his mood went down a bit. He didn't want to spend the whole day cooped up in here, working on these blueprints. He wanted to go out and enjoy the scenery for once. But if he did, he'd probably get arrested before he got the chance. He sighed and walked over to his desk. He put his coffee down on the mahogany wood, and sat in his incredibly comfortable chair. Tord remembered coming back into his quarters and finding Tom asleep in this chair, it was so comfortable for him. He laughed a little bit at the memory as he worked.

Tord turned on the fan on his desk, sighing. He's about to lose focus. If he continues to think in the past like this, he might lose focus completely and just space out for the rest of the day. He'd drink, pass out, and get nothing done. He was doing this for the greater good, and he just couldn't stand for leaving his beloved behind, somewhere he might need him. Tord stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles; something Tom used to do a lot. It kind of freaked Tord out a bit, but he learned to live with it. It even kind of made his joints feel better. He cracked his neck, too, just in case, and fixed his posture. He sat up straighter so that he didn't get a hunch when he was older.

It wasn't possible to put a screw, there, the spacing would be too tight. He'd need to weld it, instead.

He also needed a safety switch, in order to keep it from just going off at random. He's seen movies, and that always ended badly.

Tord noticed that his shoulders were hunching and they were getting sore again. He sat up straighter in the hopes that would fix it, but he couldn't be sure of it. He ran his fingers through his hair and went over the blue prints just one more time.

Tord had gone over the blueprints at least twelve times, just to make sure. To double, triple, quadruple and quintuple check, and then some more. He needed to make sure these prints were exactly right, or they might not work. He smiled to himself, and looked at the time. It was about time for lunch. Ecstatic with finishing the blueprints in time for lunch, Tord grabbed the papers and rushed them to Bones, whom he hoped to convince to build it. There was no telling what Bones might do with the papers once he got them. He just hoped that Bones would do the right thing and listen to him for once.

"What are these?" Bones asked, when Tord handed them to him. Tord said, "Doesn't matter. I just need you to build it." Bones seemed skeptical on whether or not he should build them. "Why?" He asked. "I mean, it seems the rumours are true, you've been building working on something." Bones went over them. "It's a gun." Bones clarified for himself. "But what's it supposed to do?" He asked. Tord shook his head. "That doesn't matter." Tord replied, too excited to explain everything to Bones right now. "'Doesn't matter'?" Bones looked to Tord with a harsh, parenting look. "Tord, what have you been doing, in your time of grief?" Bones asked in an accusing voice.

"I've been working on this." Tord said. "I've been working on it, partially while drunk, but since yesterday, I've been completely sober, and working on these." He gestured to the blueprints. "I need you to build this, it's for the greater good." Bones squinted at him in a manner that reminded Tord of Tom. "You're not going to try and re-animate Tom's corpse, or something stupid like that, are you?" Bones asked. Tord laughed. "Of course not!" He said, mildly confused. "Why would I do that?" "Because you're angry and you're grieving and you're Tord." Tord couldn't argue with that logic. "Okay, I see what you mean by that," He said, agreeing with Bones. "But I'm not going to re-animate Tom's corpse, Bones. I'm going to do something far, far greater than that." Bones got a mildly scared look on his face.

"What are you planning to do, Tord?" Bones asked carefully.

"Build the gun, or you won't get any more access to the debris of mjolnir." Tord said. Bones squinted. "You know I can find other ways in there, right?" Tord smirked. "Build the gun, or you will no longer have any access of any kind to Tom's DNA, or his body." Bones looked horrified at the thought of losing access to something so scientifically... Wrong. He glared at Tord, as they both knew who won that argument.

"Fine," Bones spat. "I'll build the gun." Tord shot his fist towards his chest. "Yes!" He cheered. "But you realize I'll figure out what it's for, eventually, right?" Bones said. Tord nodded. "Yes, yes, I know." Tord gave Bones a strange smile, and Bones was a little off-put by it, but he didn't say anything. "Right now, I just need you to get on building this gun." Excitement built up in Tord's gut, and he could already taste the feeling of having Tom by his side once more. His smile widened into something even more disturbing than before, and Bones decided to shoo him away.

"Alright, I'll build the gun, but you need to leave." Bones said. Tord shrugged. "I need to eat anyways," Tord replied. "Alright, see you later. Call me when the gun is finished." And with a sharp turn on his heel, Tord was gone.

With nothing left but himself, Bones stared at the blueprints. "Oh, Tord, what have you gotten yourself into?" He asked. He decided it was a good time to report back this new discovery.

Tord walked down the halls of his base with a spring in his step, and a whole new light in his eyes. He felt determined, and was glad to have those blueprints done. Now, he would be able to work on his recovery. He decided to go to the cafeteria to eat something. He kind of wanted a drink, but he knew that he should probably drink some water, instead. He grabbed a glass, along with some food to eat, and sat down at a table.

He was confronted by a few soldiers asking him where he's been and what he's been up to, lately, but Tord just shook his head and smiled. "I've been working on something amazing." He said. The soldiers would ask what it was, but Tord would just smile with that devilish twinkle in his eye. "You'll see, soon enough." He continued to eat, while the soldiers that approached him looked to each other nervously and decided to leave him alone.

Tord was, indeed, very happy with these new developments in his life. He would be able to see Tom again very, very soon.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the depressing mess of bullshit that this is, then great! I've got a wonderful blog you might like, I suggest you go follow it. Or don't. I'm not your dad. 
> 
> @ daddy-issues-anon.tumblr.com


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